Then came a heavy sound.
A cabinet door.
Or a body striking a wall.
Ben whispered from somewhere nearby, “Mom?”
The recording ended.
There were 23 audio files.
The photographs were worse.
Bruises on Laura’s arms.
A split lip.
A bedroom door with a lock installed on the outside.
A handgun under the driver’s seat of Rick’s truck.
A shovel, rope, and several containers of fuel in a storage compartment.
There were screenshots from Laura’s phone showing messages Rick had sent.
You embarrass me again, and no one will find enough of you to bury.
Tell your sister you were confused.
The final photograph showed a handwritten list.
Laura.
Mia.
Ben.
Rachel.
Beside each name was a date.
I called 911.
The dispatcher told me not to approach the house or contact the children.
I explained that Rick’s truck was gone.
She asked whether Laura was home.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you see her vehicle?”
